Break-Ups
by xXxNeonSoundxXx
Summary: There are different stages of grief people go through when experiencing loss in their life. Everyone handles these stages differently, but they're all barreling toward one single end: heartache. [Various YowaPeda Boys]
1. Denial (Ishigaki Koutarou)

Struggling to find the keys to his home, Ishigaki fumbled around in his pockets, nearly dropping the grocery bags in his arms a few times as he searched for them. By the time he'd found them deep in his front left pocket, his arms had started to hurt from the weight of the shopping bags bearing down on him. He shifted them higher up his arms before attempting to unlock the front door, his key easily gliding into place. With every single bag of groceries hanging from his arms—he'd be damned if he had to make more than one trip—he shuffled his way through the open entrance.

"I'm home," he called out, hearing his faint echo as it bounced off the walls.

After closing the door behind him and removing his shoes, Ishigaki made his way to the kitchen where he was finally able to rest the shopping bags on the counter. The muscles in his arms ached as he stretched them, getting rid of the stiffness that had accumulated in them. Now all that was left to do was begin the tedious process of putting everything into its proper place.

Starting with the pantry, Ishigaki stacked boxes of simple meals in one corner and cans of processed foods in another, making sure each label was facing outward so he could easily identify them later. There was an overwhelming amount of canned vegetables near the back of his pantry, towering over the rest of his supplies. It had accumulated over the weeks, having not been touched; he'd have to sort through them later so he could get rid of any that had expired sooner than he'd expected.

After the pantry had been organized, Ishigaki got to work on putting away the refrigerated items he had bought. Milk, juice, and any other liquids went in the door, replacing any empty or near empty cartons that he'd need to finish drinking that day. Eggs went into their proper holders, filling up the spaces until a dozen had been accounted for. Fresh fruit, something he always made sure he had enough room in his fridge for, went on the largest shelf. Throughout the week, he'd rummage through them all to nibble on the ones he liked while saving the others until they went bad.

"All that's left to put away is this," he said quietly to himself, picking up the heavy package of sodas.

Before placing all of them in the fridge, he picked one up in his hands. Glancing at the familiar labels, he studied every aspect of the design. It was a soft drink he didn't even like, but he knew the brand by heart. After all, it had started to take up the majority of his fridge since nobody was around to drink it.

With a shuddering breath, Ishigaki could feel a few tears slip past his heavy eyelids. Wiping them away with the back of his sleeve, he stuffed the soda onto the third shelf of his fridge—the second shelf already full of the drink—before closing it entirely.

"It's okay," he whispered quietly to himself, images of a figure walking out on him flashing through his mind. "I just have to stay patient."


	2. Anger (Arakita Yasutomo)

There's a loud crash as a picture frame smashes against the wall, shards of glass littering across the floor. The wooden frame clatters downward, leaving behind the picture face down on the wall. It sticks there for a second before slipping helplessly to floor as well, joining the mess. On its descent, it flips over and reveals the once happy couple photographed on a sunny day that seemed so long ago. As it settles in its final spot on the floor, another crash of a different picture frame scatters debris across and over it.

Arakita can feel his blood boiling underneath his skin, setting it ablaze as he looks for any sort of outlet to get rid of his frustrations. His fingers close around the alarm clock that sits on his bedside table, squeezing it tightly between his hands before he picks it up roughly. He has to yank at it a few times before the cord it's attached to gives way, practically ripping it out of the electrical outlet. The digital screen displaying the time goes blank the moment he tears it from its spot and, with as much force as he can manage, he throws the device against the wall as well. A noticeable scuff appears where it hits, but Arakita pays it no mind as he's already reaching out for another thing to throw.

"Agh, damn it," he growls out when the desk lamp he was targeting refuses to leave its spot as easily as the clock did. He kicks the desk instead, causing it to jostle in place and in turn causing the lamp to fall over in its spot. In a fit of rage, he kicks the table again, finding some strange sort of solace in the way it stays practically sturdy in its place. He kicks it again and again and again; only when the lamp finally falls to the floor in a crash, the bulb fracturing upon impact, does he stop and realize he's breathing harder than he should be.

His closed fist hits the wall, fingers throbbing because of the sudden impact and he's sure it's going to leave bruises the next day. Breathing heavily, Arakita turns his head downward toward the messy floor, screwing his eyes impossibly tight as he tries to find a pattern to his breathing once more. He can feel the beginnings of tears burning at the edges of his eyelids, threatening to spill over the longer he holds them in. With a broken noise that sounds halfway between a sob and a growl, he lets them fall the moment he reopens his eyes.

"So that's it then," he says, trying hard not to let his voice shake. Uncurling his fist against the wall, he lets the palm of his hand slide down before it falls to his side, allowing his forehead to replace its spot. Arakita tries to focus on the cool of the wall against his warm forehead as he speaks to himself. "After all that time we spent together, you're going to end it like that."

A new surge of rage fills him and, turning quickly, he faces the middle of the room and surveys the damage he had done. All the gifts given him over the course of years had been trashed, all the pictures the were torn to shreds, all the memories were tarnished; everything that would ever remind him of what he once had was gone, having walked out of his life just hours prior.

"Fine then," he huffs.

His vision blurred by tears, Arakita lets his back hit the wall before crumpling down to the floor.


	3. Bargaining (Toudou Jinpachi)

Toudou could feel a slight tremble in his hands as he held his cell phone up to his ear. Suddenly the noises that had been surrounding him seemed of little significance. Even the voice on the other end of the line seemed to fade away, replaced by his own heart beat slamming loudly against his eardrums. The noise was almost too much for him and, pulling the phone away from his face for a second, he shook his head violently, trying to regain his lost sense. It took a couple seconds before he could hear properly again, though at this point he wished he couldn't.

He tried to think of something to say, anything that would get him out of this situation, but his mind was pulling blanks. All the words were there in his mind and he could see them clearly, but placing them in the correct order proved rather difficult. Everytime he opened his mouth to retort, the words died on his throat before even reaching his tongue. For once in his life, he was completely speechless.

"Don't do this," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

The voice on the other end droned on, not caring whether he interrupted or not. At this point Toudou was only half listening to what was being said; he didn't care for any more excuses. He just wanted to get his point across before it was too late.

Not being able to stay seated on his bed for much longer, his legs feeling far too restless, he stood abruptly. The sudden change caused his head to throb with the threat of a headache and he gripped his cell phone tighter in his palm, willing the pain to cease so he could think properly. When had his mind become so frazzled?

"I can change," he blurted suddenly, as if hesitating any further would cause all the words in his mind to escape him. This time his voice was louder, nearly overpowering the other speaker. In the back of his mind, he wondered if any of his family or the guests visiting the inne heard him.

There was a pause and, for a brief second, Toudou thought he'd won, but when the one-sided conversation continued, he could feel the last pieces of hope he had slipping between his fingers. He couldn't let it end this way.

"Just one more date," he said, desperation lacing his tone. Not sure whether or not he could be heard, Toudou said it again for good measure. "Just let me take you out on one more date. We can go out to that place you like so much. We can have dinner. I can change your mind. We can—"

There was a click on the other end of the line, cutting him off completely. Interrupting his thoughts, it made it harder for him to realign his grief scrambled mind.

Ten seconds later, an automated voice replaced the one he was hoping to hear. Toudou dropped his phone, replaying the words in his mind over and over like a sick mantra.

 _Would you like to listen to your voicemail again?_


	4. Depression (Makishima Yuusuke)

Sitting at his desk, Makishima tapped incessantly on the hard wooden surface. His eyes were focused on the computer's screen in front of him, the glow it cast being the only source of light other than the moon in his dark room. Clicking his tongue, another nervous habit he'd acquired over the years, he allowed himself to read the words on his screen over and over and over again. It rolled around in his mind, repeating like a mantra he wished he didn't know.

He suspected it would all end like this.

The message on his screen was short; it could barely be considered a proper paragraph with only a couple lines of text. Despite that, it was still able to get its message across in what few words it did use. He glanced at the time it had been sent, noticing that it had arrived in his email's inbox only a few hours ago. How he hadn't noticed it sooner was beyond him.

Sitting back in his seat, Makishima allowed his eyes to slip from the computer's screen over to the window on the far side of the room. Outside, the nightlife of England was just beginning to emerge, drowning out the stars that would have littered the skies if the artificial lights weren't so bright. He could faintly hear some cars driving past, their engines sputtering. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to allow the atmosphere to distract him from the situation at hand.

"Should I answer?" His question was directed at nobody in particular. It hung in the air, waiting to be caught by someone who knew the answer.

After taking a few minutes to his thoughts, Makishima leaned back over his desk, getting closer to the screen. He maneuvered his mouse so the cursor was focused over the email, ready to create a response. His fingers skimmed across the keyboard, tracing out the letters to words he wanted to say, but never fully pressing down. Would it be right to send a message back?

Being so focused on whether or not he should actually type anything out or not, Makishima was startled to realize his vision was going blurry. Tears had begun to well up at the corners of his eyes, some of them managing to fall past the lower lids. The ones that escaped slipped off the edge of his chin, dripping onto his desk, onto his hands, onto the lettered keys. It took a second before he wiped them away, a self-depreciated laugh escaping his throat when more tears replaced them.

Exiting the email quickly—he could deal with answering it tomorrow—Makishima went through the process of shutting off his computer. Only when the familiar sounds of the system going offline met his ears and his room had been consumed in darkness did he stand from his chair, its legs scraping loudly against the wooden floor below. He could feel his legs shaking and he couldn't tell if it was from his training earlier that day or if it was from the roller coaster of emotions he was going through that very moment. Either way, he didn't trust himself to walk to bed without collapsing on the way.

"At least it was an email," he murmured quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just imagine how I'd feel if it had been said to my face."


	5. Acceptance (Kinjou Shingo)

Stepping into his room, Kinjou places his bag in its normal spot on the floor right next to his desk. The moment he lets go, it slumps in its spot, nearly toppling over. He pays it no mind as he pulls his desk chair out of its place before sitting down. Scooting it a little closer to the workspace, he moves a few of the scattered papers around. Some of them are incomplete assignments, others are to do lists, but most of them are just blank pieces of paper that happened to make its way onto his desk.

For a moment or two, Kinjou simply sits there and thinks about all the things he has to accomplish before the day ends. There was plenty of paperwork to be done, a few things around the house that he needed to attend to, and he could never shirk off his personal training. So much to do, yet so few hours left in the day to do them. Sitting forward in his desk, he decided to start with the hardest of all his tasks.

Standing once more from his seat, Kinjou looked around his room until his eyes landed on a small box he had shoved into the corner a few weeks prior. It was taped shut and, despite not being able to see exactly what was inside, he had a feeling he would recognize everything that lay hidden. Grabbing the scissors that were on his desk, he made his way over to the box and began cutting up the longs strips of tape that held it closed.

"It's been a while," he said to nobody in particular once the box had been opened.

Reaching in, he picked out the first item that his hands had come in contact with; it was a picture. The smooth surface of the photograph between his fingers was only stopped by the jagged edges that were in the middle of the photo. It was clear that, at one point, this picture had been torn in half, but a thinner piece of tape was holding the two pieces back together, revealing the full portrait. He placed it beside him before reaching in for another object.

"I was wondering where this went," he muttered as he pulled out an old shirt of his, inspecting it for any new tears or stains.

One by one, Kinjou pulled out items that led him on a journey through memory lane and, while each new item brought a certain tightness to his chest he'd experienced before, he learned to quickly overcome the uncomfortable feeling so he could finish unpacking. By the time he had mostly emptied out the box, rediscovering things he had owned that he'd forgotten all about, he could feel his demeanor shifting. It felt almost as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders now that he had plucked up enough courage to go through these once shared items.

Picking up the last thing in the box—a single piece of paper—Kinjou unfolded it to find a single line written in script he found too familiar. He read it over and over again to himself and, for a second, he wondered if the similar box of things he'd sent out had been opened as well.

"I'll miss you, too," he said to noone as he placed the one-lined letter onto his desk. "But we both know this is for the best."

Standing from his spot, he got to work on sorting out all his reacquired things.


End file.
